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A Family Companion, Devoted to Literature, Miscellany, News, Agriculture, Markets, &c.
Vol. XI WEDNESDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 10, 1875. No.6.
THE HERALD
IS PUBLISHED
BY THO, P. GREEKER,
fE~or androprietor.'
Ver.an
Invariably in Advance.
r The paper is stopped at the expiration of
time for whit d.
E TOO LA I exiragn .of sub
scription.
Keep to the right as the law directs.
Keep fro:n the world thy friend's defects.
Kep d1'tbythoughts on purest themes.
Keep from thine eyes the motes and beam.
Keep 'ruithy deed. Thy honor bright.
Keep firm thy faith in God and right.
Keep free from ev.ery sin andstain.
Keep f i a thajCrkthe pain.
Keep free thy tongue from words of ill.
"Zprighbthy aim and good thy will.
Eeep airthy acts from passion free.
Keep strong in hope no envy see.
Keewat C10 ='ereo*ue7and'and.
Keep firm thy feet by justice stand.
Keep true thy word, a sacred thing.
K the temptatt b'ring
Keep faitb with each you call a friend.
,*W..f0ia view the final end.
beep- from all hate and malice free.
p!my t boourdge an's c
-eep up heright and down the wrong.
,CW ell the wrdq of wisdom's school.
Keep warm by night ma by day kfei01.
IDgvo4ED.
BY ROSE TERRY.
1k t. khilgivin to the father'
My darling! my darling! the midnight is
here
T tempt me with longing and
1 'ttiugh thedarkiess thy sweet Uttle"
ieids In their nests that in 'slumber re
J@die.
My darlb'Tt dilng! a long zight has
come;
IgWvtr*yhg arie ln'the ashe& of home:
IW apho of love afid th ir aLrer..of
peace
Alli i bV" mVnPinsola.ceasey
I gave them-mr lWye s our- Father gives
I gave them my life without stint or com
They tsidimrand lt eto die by the wray;
My MenlmfovMou-(et kinder than
.they; . ~
From thee in thy blossom, the sweetness of
The perfume and faith of thy life are not
gone;
Thou lovest for love's sake, not duty, nor
L4bhath odefiled, thee; nor sorrow, ac
~pain.
e& woud that together in so'm- quit
grave,
Or threa'nogptoa
wave,
hy tyarms aroud-m; tby1iead on my
We tsceid ims&snlesrestN
Ini the night and the daytime I long for thy
Icall theedith pitifut:prayer,
My darling! my darling! why art thou not
there! S' a'
O God! when Thou judgest thle false and the
Whe a~a sion olinig ae
I'ask of Thee only to give me above
This baby, who only.hath answe red my love!
-Scribner's Monthly.
*4eieliktetched his grace
ful length lazily upon my office
lounge, and assumed a very serious
eg sso .'ofcountenanee
'Ned was my wife's cousin-a
gg.tokTngwide-awake fellow,
possessed of considerable property
at iao insufferable amount of self
seeyn, which rendered himn abouit
as happy a mortal as ever existed.
But this mforing3 he looked ser
rious.
~ eli- you, Tonm," he said at
length, "I am mf such a pickle-a
tsrtaui.g guatndary. -
@.iwWell, what's dp ?" I 'asked,
half closin'g my bookc.
eAiter two mniodtes of sHeted, 1
resumed my .book and became ab
sorbed in my study, when Ned
ejaecate'd. "Th~ose Girls!I"
..31a eyes were lik.ed~ upon the
'tilftbove my window, and mine
f w tt drcin bat I
sawtihothing to caH forth his exe!a
Returning to my book, I had
reached the bottom of the page
W1agg startled by .the
* -, bre'lra louder tone,
"Those girlst'".
"Whbere," I cried, no w full.y
aroused ;."'ybere are they con.
ceakd?".r
.lsBe:calm my friend," interupted
uIdl'i ws merhly inforig
you of the cause of my quandary.
It is about those Norris girls. you
.W-ell, what have they done ?"
Issked, laying down mny book.
"Anything that requires my as
-.itac Is it a breach-of-promise
Ned-looked at me in undisguised
dspst.
"You see it stands like this," he
wentoa, at length. "I got ac
quai~dd.wit'h Clara -.Nor.ris, the~
oldest girl, last summer, down at
teseashore,and I was really quito
taken in with her. .She is a fine
gr-.was the belle,of our set.
''was-just upon the point of
pioposinlg, when she left. ,.But I
m~t.t~r. I could
tola Miss .Norris would be dowi
immediately.
"When the door opened, I ros,
to greet my black-eyed charmer
but instead, stood face to fac,
with a nice-looking, grey-eye<
girl that I had never seen bcfore
"Well, thanks to my knack o
getting out of scrapes, I slippe
out of that all rigbt.
"I beg pardon !" I said. "Bn
I supposed I was to meet Mis
Norris."
"Ah, yes; I see!' she said
making me at ease insantly.
"Your cali was meant for my siste
Clara. I suppose. But she is no
atehme this week, and you wil
be obliged to let me entertain you.
"Froi that time wuN went -or
swimn INgy, anl I never enjoyo(
a cail better in my life. She play
ed to m*--and I never saw suel
prStty hands in my life ! and he,
voice was like a lark's and sh<
ediild:tal' a fellow'into Paradiso
Know jist what to say, and ho'.
to say it ; aid I remembered then
that Clara% was rather reserved
arid not balf as social as she mighi
be.
"Well, I called again that week
and that girl's voice and her sofi
lovely hands haunted me. Theii
her.sister came, and her eyes wert
darker and brighter than ever
and Julia-that is the other on.4
name-seined rather dim in hei
presence. Still, her voice and bci
way-of talking Clara couldn't corn
pare ivith , and I was just tossed
back and forth between the two
"One day I would decide to set
tie-the thing and take Clara; and
then- Juia would begin to talk
and her hands would flutter ii
somo. pretty.work, and.I would
leave the house dead in love witi
her. 'And, one day she said ti
"Do you, know that Ellen i,
ceming home to-morrow ?'
"iWho is Ellen ?' I asked
-"'Why, don't you know ? Sh<
isour younger sister. She ha
beeu away at- Uncle John's foi
several months, but is cuming
home now.'
"Well,-she Came. You've see
her Tom-that little brown-eyet
fairy that all the follows rave aboul
:so a-+ We.Il,; you sev, con
found it all! between three, I arr
completely muddled."
"You doft know which tc
take ?' I said.
"No! the:r jnst the trouble ! I:
I made up-my mind to propose t
Clara asi- hive a dozen times
eiteEll.n dances bofore me,;shak
ing her yeI1ow'e urls, and siiling
witiher brqwn eyes, till.I am.halI
seas o.ver, -:eIse'Jalia-sin~gs :ant
taksjit iiLa-lunatie. ' And-if J
fix angh fierzinly-upon eithe:
of those, then, then, the first tims
1 am out on the street, that queen
:ly Clai-a glides somewhere ii
sight, and -I'm gone again "
"Pobr "feliow !" I-said, gravely
-I'm sorrzy for you. But wl.
dont you makaup your mind one
fr all, and.proposei to one of them
and(. have it over with ?"
8Ah ! if they wvere rnot s.ien:
I wuli !" Ne respoh2ded; C.But
you see, I'm afraid, if I shoul<
once engage myself to either one
I should always repen.t it when
saw the others. Being sister:
you know, they would forever b
a,ound, reminding a fellow wha!
miht have been. But I've abou
made up my mind to take Eller
:es.sa perfet little fairy, and
know I should be happy with he;
l3on''t be surprised, if you are cal
ed upon to congratulate me ucs
time we meet."
A day or t.wo after, I saw Net
"Wel," I began, "shall I congra
ulate you?" - --
"Oh, confound it, no !" growle
ed. '"I have been there twice; bt
Ithat conceited Will Spencer wz
hanging round there both time
Ellen looked daggers at him, an
did everything'biit ask him to gi
-for-shedivined the cause of ni)
visit, I guess. But he stuck tigh
r than Spaulding's glue. lie
suh a.conceited jackanapes ! N
dut he thought she was d
lightd with:bis presence."
.. did not see N.ed for a week c
two but when I did, I hel' rt
my card of invitation to Mi
-Ellen Norris's wedding.
'-how's this ?" said I, bent c
teasing. "Gijuess Will SPenmi
was't so very much mnistaken, a
ter' all-was he ? Seems he's Lin
.proved his time pretty well, an'
how."
. "Oh,- get out !" cried Ned, pus]
ingr me oilf. "Let a fellow alone
c'tyou ? I am glad enough she
gingto marry him. Nice gir
But that queenly Clara is wort
St wo.of her, and Julia is worth tw
of her, and Julia can't be beat, ol
felion ! You'll see !"
Idid. seo;, er rather, b'eard.
was a Elen's wedding. Jnli
i her conversation, her music, and
her graceful ways. I didn't won.
der at Ned's choice. 1 whispered
as much to him, late in the eve
nling.
I He gave mo a beaming glance.
"G.ay-isn't she, Tom? But there
f is somebody hanging about her
1 all the time, and I haven't had a
chance to get a word with her.
t Now, there's that black-whiskered
* professor boring her with his oio
gics. How weary she looks! I say
'ron, can,'t you get him off some
- where, so I can talk to her ?"
l3ut the professor was called
away by some other person just
then, and N ed supplied the vacan cy
immaediatuly.
I sauntered off to the library,
I after a moment, and sat down be
hiw-l the high dcsk, to look over
an old volume. Prescntly I heard
-Ned's voice at the door.
Come in here l moment," he
said. "where we can be alone. I
want to speak with you."
1thought sbo hesitated, but
she came with him, and, before I
could make my presence kn6wn,
Ned had begun. le had aporfect
cohmand of language, and talked
like a two-volume novel.
"You must have long known,
Miss Norris," he began, "the mean
ing of my frequent calls at your
home. Though first a friend of
you1r sister, I soon learned to look
-ipon one of the family in another
light thau a friend. I have long de
isired this opportunity to express
my feelings, and receive the an
swer from your lips. But the fates
have all seemed averse, and I had
aimost despaired of speaking to
you this evening. The opportunity
has at last arrived, and hero at
your feet, I await the answer
which shall render my future life
a desert or a Paradisc. Speak, I
implore y.u !"
,There was a moment's silence;
broken at length, by Miss Julia's
imelodious accents.
"DoI understand this, Mr. Clark,
as a proposal of marriage ?"
"Light of my life, yes! What
else could my words imply ? I
lovo you! Be my wife !"
Ned was getting eloquent, and
I felt very much like laughing:
- but it woi 1 have been indiscreet,
in my position, so I sat still till
the play ended.
'lai exceedingly surprised." I
heard Miss Julia respond--"very
much surprised indeed! I had al
>ways supposed your calls were
merely the calls of a friend ; and if
-out of thbe three, you lookedi upon
one with the eyes of love, I had
-supposed it to be my sister Clara."
I"Yes, yes ! I know I have veil
ed my heart !" Ned interrupted;
-"but, t a.ssure you, it is you that I
have loved, and do love ! It is
ydu-"
"Please do not go any further,"
Julia's calm voico broke in. "It
is unnecessary to prolong this in
terview. Had I known your in
tentions, I should not have grant
eri it."
"But you don't mean to say
You surely can not refuse my suit
ut teri.y! Ned cried mournfully.
I"Indeed I must, Mr. Clark," she
answe-re d, tender'ly. "'Though I
II respect and esteem you very high
.y I can never be other thani a
e friend, or-a sister to you."
t "But perhaps yeu will think bet
t ter of it-" Ned said, in so pathet
.ic a voice, that I should have felt
I really sorry for the fellow had it
.been anybody but Ned-feather
- hearted Ned, who never loved
tybody, save himself, enough to
Igive h im an hour's real pain ; as it
..S, 1. wantedC~ to i::ug~h, but, as I
before reimarked, thought it would
be~ inireet-"perhaps you would
d thn ~ better of this, after mature
t deliberation. I do not want you
,to decidle hastily. Think of it a
f. f day s, and then give me your
d ainsw~er.
>"Indeed, it is not necessary !"
y Julia said earnestly. "I should
tanswer you just as I answer vou
is now. Your friend--nothing more."
o "But if' there is any obstacle
that I can remove-"
"Thbere is an obstacle," Julia in
r terrupted, with a little quaver cf
t miirth in her voice. "But I would
shardly like to have it removed!
Mr. Ciark, I trust to your honor
n to keep my secret, though it is a
r ece only for the present, I am
f the promised wife of Professor
1-fhor'ne! We are to be married in
Sa fewv months. Now take me
back to our guests, and let us be
ithe best of friends in the future,
- as we have been in the past."
s. ht a too good a thing to keep,
.Ihdto) tell Ned that I heard it
h all, the next time I saw him.
o "You see, Ned, I couldn't help
d being there," I said. "And, after
you had got fairly afloat on you
tsea of eloquence, I was not at all
-a- t't hear it Yoi did it un~
.surprised at the repIy. 1 had
grown to look upon Miss Julia as
a relative."
"Oh, hang it!" cried Ned, chafing
under my raillery. "Why can't
you let a follow be? You'd no
business listening, anyhow! But
I am not sorry she answered me
as she did, after all."
"No," I said; "you will never
have any regrets now, thinking
what miight have been. It helps
you out of your quandary nicely.
Leaves you just 'Ilobson's choice'
-Clara or none."
"And Clara is worth both the
others," Ned responded emphati
caily. "She would reign royally
over a tellow's house! She's a
woman to be proud of!"
"Al1 right." said . 'Glad you
look at the tliing so logically.
Helen and I shall welcome Clara,
and be glad of her as a relative
and neighbor."
Ned went to the Falls, and be
fore I saw him again, with the
Norris party. le wrote one
glowing letter, soon after he ar
rived, givincr an account of Clara's
royal charms, what a sensation
she made, and how the follows en
vied him.
"It will be settled before I get
back !" he wrote.
I introduced the subject as soon
as we met.
"Well, Ned, when it is to be ?"
"Oh, deuce take you !" he cried,
throwing himself on my lounge in
his old way. "You are always at
a follow-never giving him any
peace."
"But, Ned," said I gravely, try
ing not to laugh, "you wrote that
it would all be settled before you
came back. What more natural
than that I should ask you when
it was to bo ?"
t tWelo then, necer !" snapped
Ned. "She went through all that
long rigmarole that Julia did-'she
never thought of such a thing,'
and so on-and the next day she
was receiving the congratulations
of her friends on account of her
engagement to a Boston chap.
Seems she has known him for a
year or two. "I tell you what,
Tom," he continued, in a reflect
ive manner, "there isn't much de
pendence to be placed upon a
woman's actions. A fellow may
be positive that he has oniy to
ask and receive, and likely as not,
he will get a positivo refusal.
Now, I was sutre I could have any
of those three girls, by saying the
word. And just see the conse
qucences ! T wo of 'em married, one
pretty near it, and I rejected and
alone. But I am sort of glad, af
ter all !" he went on. "Clara is a
splendid woman, but she would
cost a man a deal to rig her up ;
and there is just the trimmest lit
tle girl over in Brooklyn, and if
she'll have me, I'm going to see
what I can do in that quarter. I
do not fix my hopes too firmly up
on earthly things, but I still think
I have a chance over there. And
she has no sister-, so there'll be no
bother. Oh, well, women are
queer creatures-act one thing,
and mean another; but, I tell yoeu,
Tom, that little Brooklyn girl is
trim !"'
Ned profited by his lesson, and
is a much more agreeable fellow.
1 told himr so one day.
"A h. ves !" he said. "Knocked
off a foot or so of my self conceit,
But it's growing aigain; for that
little womarn over ini Brooklyn
says tImte nicest fellow walk
ingr. We re to be married Christ
mnas. you know. After all. Fate
knew best what was good for me.
Those Norris girls don't compare
with this one."
Nel married his ''little girl''
over in Brooklyn, and they are as
jolly a couple as I ever sa w. She is
willing to wvorship Ned, and lie is
willing to be worshipped. And
he is a very kind and affectionate
husband as well, and never is
troubled with "quandaries."
Ini the Aew York postoffice
there is a clerk whose memory of
the oflne brings him back to the
year 1835, when a young woman
used to cali every week for a let
ter adesdto "Miss Mary H.
ity of her visits, her constant re
serve,and the quietncss,with which
she resented inquiry- as to her his
tory and occupation excited in the
Ioffice a curiosity which was never
gratified. Until within ten years
she made her calls with accustomed
regularity and was never disap
pointed in her expectation of a
- letter. Since, she has not been
seen, but the letter come as of old.
They are forwarded to the dead
letter ofieewhere they are opened,
but contain no clue to the identity
ofeither the writer or the recipient.
*in each is a 85 note, with a line
sayinJg when the next remittance
will hamd-ntig oe
"AND WHEN I'M TO DIE."
The hymn of John Newton in
which the verse beginning with
these words occurs, was a favorite
of the venerable Rowland Hill.
During the last two or three years
of his life he frequently repeated
the following lines:
"And when I'm to die,
Receive me I'll cry,
For Jesus iatb loved me, I cannot tell why.
Bat this I do find,
We two are so joined,
He'll not be in Glory and leave me behind.
There are two incidents in his
old age connected with these
words which are deeply touching.
The last time ho occupied the pul
pit of one of his brethren near by,
and whom he sincerely loved, he
preached an excellent sermon
in behalt ofacharitabie institution.
lie retired to the Vestry after ser
vice under great exhaustion. Here
he remained until all but himself'
and the pastor had left Lle church.
At last he seemed to gather up
strength to take his departure, in
timating that it was probably the
last time he should have the privi
lege of preaching in the pulpit. "I
offered him my arm," says the pas
tor, which he declined, and then
followed him as he passed down
the aisle of the chapel. The lights
were nearly extinguished. the si
lence profound; nothing indeed
was heard but the slow, majestic
tread of his own footsteps, when
in an undertone he thus solilo
quized:
"And when I'm to die," &c.
"To my heart," his friend adds,
"this was a scene of unequalled
solemnity, nor can I ever recur to
it without a revival of that hallow
ed sympathy it first awakened."
The other incident was upon
his deathbed. He was literally dy
ing, and to all appearance uncon
scious. A friend approached his
couch and began to repeat close
by his side the-favorite lines
"And when I'm to die,
Receive me, '!l.cry," &c.
The light came back to his fading
eye, a smile overspread his face,
and his lips moved in vain at
tempts to articulate words which
had so often imparted joy to his
soul. This was the last sign of
consciousness he ever gave.
May not other Christians take
instruction, comfort and strength
from the example of this man of
God ? The work o,f his eventful
life was ending, eternity was open
ing before him. But he claims no
merit before God. With the hu
mility of a little child he takes his
place at the foot of the Cross, an
absolute debtor to divine grace.
There is much of both Bound
theology and true-Christian expe
rience in the lines he so loved to
reeat. Let us never forget that
God's love to us does not come as
a return for our love to him. "We
love him because he first loved us."
The wonder of it is that it was to
wards his enemies. If our hearts
have been brought under his pow
er, wve can give no further account
of it, ini its origin or in its oper
tion than this-"I have loved thee
with an everlasting love, therefore
with loving kindness have I drawn
thee."
IIappiest is that Christian who
can live most entirely under the
power of this truth. Blessed in
deed is that death which has shed
upon it the peace belonging to him
who can say with an unwavering
the "I know and feel that Jesus
has loved me, though I cannot tell
wchy."- Central Presbyterian.
W HOSE Box Is T HAT-IHe may
be seen any day, in almost any
part of the village ; he never
makes iroem for you on the side
walk, looks at you saucily, and
swears smartly if asked anything;
be is very impuden t, and often vul
gar,to ladies who pass ; he dclights
Iin frightening and sometimes does
serious injury to little boys and
girls; he lounges at the street
corners, and is the first ar-rival at a
dog fight or any other sport or
scape; he crowds in the post office
in the evening, and multiplies him
sef and his antics at such a rate
that peop)le having legitimate bus
iness are crowded out; he thinks
himself very sharp, he is certainly
very noisy ; he can smoke and
chewv tobacco now and then, and
-ip out an oath most any time :
we ask whose boy ho is. Mother
is he your boy ? We think he is,
for there are many good qualities
in the lad, and we do not think
that you know what he does on
the street. Look after him me
thr; keep him more at home.
Train him and you will have a son
to be p)roud of.
iDea'th is as necessary to our
onst,iutin as sleep. We ah aU
WIIEN TIMES WILL GET BE
TER.
"Why don't the times get b,
ter ?'
This is a question which is ft
quently asked.
We think, says the Ledger, th:
the times are getting better-slo1
ly, but surely. And they will co
tinue to grow better just about
the ratio that industry increas,
and extravagance decreases.
We were reading, not long -g
about a great Belgium iron man
theturer, whose works cover eigi
acres of ground. His businef
amounts to millions of dcllars p(
annum, and he is able to underse
rivals in all parts of the world.
One of the chief reasons of h
ability thus to triumph over con
petitors, is to be found in the faci
that his personal and family e:
penses amount to only sixtee
thousand francs ($3,200) a yea
that he oversees his business hin
self; and that all his sons and soi
in-laws work with him, and are i
industrious and economical as I
is.
How different the great mani
facturers of this country and the
families operate. An America
with such a business as this Be
gian, would not be content wit
living on a paltry three thousall
two hundred doliars a year. 11
sons would not put on leath(
aprons and work at the bench.
His daughters would not conser
to their husbands working lit
day laborers.
No; he would have a costly e
tablishment. They would a I
have costly establishments. 11
sons would spend more for cigai
and dinners than suffices to pay a
the personal and family expens
of the Belgian iror, king. H
daughters w%rould expend thr<
thousand two hundred dollars j
their outlay for one grand fain
ball. Newport, Saratoga, the Eur
pean tour, and such like indu
gences, would swallow up tens i
thousands of dollars per annur
And in the absence of the he.
of the establishment, away (
some fashionable tour, the cashi
would leave with the cGntents
the treasury.
Of course, such a concern wou
have to charge high prices for i
its commodities. With all the a
vantages of a high tariff and tl
cost of ocean transportation ini
favor, it could not compete wil
the Belgian who, reinforced by
his family, attends assiduously
his business, and foregoes all tl
fashionable frivolities of the age
It is not to be expected th
anybody's family in this count>
will imitate the Belgian ir<
king's family; but it is not unre:
onable to maintain that untili
dustry and economy shall take t:
lead of idleness and extravagani
the times will not generally al
permanently get any better.
EDUCATE THE MUSCLEs.-31u
matrimonial misery grows out
the complainings of an unhealtl
wife. When will our.girls und<
stand the grand truth that m
prize health in women above;
other gifts?
The robust masculine half is
constituted that it soon tires
t h e pettish complaints (ev
though well founded) of the wet
er femin ine -half.
Sentimental, "delicate" M i
Araminta, languidly rising fron
lounge to meet her devoted lov
may look marvelously poetical
her white robe and blue ribbo
and, by weakness alone, for
another link in the mighty chain
love which binds his heart to he
But a year later, when the mn
riQd man sees at his breakfast
ble a sallow-faced, untidy fern
in a loose wrapper, who has b
awake all night with "one of th<
dreadful sick headaches," lie f:
to see the poetry of Mtrs. Aram
ta's appearance.
So let all girls arnd young won:
partake of every active exerc
not absolutely unfeminine a
trust to their being able to get
to or out of a carraige with a li;
and graceful step, which no dr
ing can accomplish. Let th
rise early and retire early to ri
and trust that their beauty v
not need to be coined into artifi<
smiles in order to secure a v
come, whatever room they ent
Let them ride, walk, run, rc
play, dance in the open air.]
courage the merry and innoc<
diversions in which the you
delight; let them, under prol
guidance, explore every bill
valley ; let them plant and cu
ate the garden, and make h
when the summer sun shines,a
surmount all dread of a shower
rain or the boisterous wind; a
above all, let them take no m<
ino except when the doctor ti
. .nn Gov Uoffuiui's adiress to the A!banyV
Me.lical C.ollege.2
MILD PILLS.
~t- --
I would not say anything to
'0- lower the tone of' your profession- e;
al or personal morals, but I fan- e
It cy that there is a certain kind !H
- f deception which is not sin. I t<
n- was sitting at dinner once with f
in an esteemed c o u n t r y medical c
es friend, and noticed him rolling in si
his fingers pills from the bread at
0, ais s,ide. I asked his purpose, e:
L- and be replied that %xith that sim
it ple remedy he had worked a cure ti
ss in the case of a lady who had con- s:
.r sulted, in vain, some of the most t(
11 celebrated physicians in the coun- y,
try; that she had a slight relapse, ol
is and had sent for him for some of ai
I- the same pills which he had giv- cc
's en before. le did not seem to tr
c- think that he was doing a very in
0 wicked thing, nor did it strike me in
r, that he was. I suppose he would A
3- have been a little flustered if his oi
3- patient had asked him to write
Ls out the prescription. This he a
e knew she would not do. She had
faith in him, and in no one else, sc
3- and would have trusted no one sN
ir else to make up the pills. Wheth- b:
n er this deception-a professional w
1- white lie-was censurable accord- d(
h ing to piofessional ethics, I can si
d not oty. The standard of morals b(
is even among the faculty is, I am m
r sorry to say, not ulways the same. a
- Recently I saw a report of a suit
it at law between two physicians.
:e It was a slander suit. The trial
involved, among other thir. in
s- quiry into the use of homeopathic
medicines by an allopathic physi
is cian, and the professional pro
rs priety of so doing. One witness e
1 of high professional sta:ding in
his own neighborhood, testified,
is in substance, that if an allopathic
e doctor administered honeopathic a
n remedies without letting bis pa- a
!vtient know the fact, it was quite d
o right and regular ; but if he told
1- the patient that they were homeo
)f pathic medicines, then he was
n. altogether wrong and irregular.
Ld In other words, regularity lay
m in the concealment of the truth. y
6
-r I, an unprofessional man, do not
of mean to express my opinion upon
that point; but I do think my
d friend with the bread-pills was
d regular." h
e ONE HUNDRED FLORINS FOR A
ts sINGLE HAIR.-A young aud poor
th ly clad girl recently entered a bar
d1 ber's shop in Vienna and told the j
to proprietor that he "must buy her
b ead." The friseur examined her
-long, glossy, chestnut locks, and
at began to bargain. He could give
L' her eight gulden, and no more.
>n IIair was plentiful this year, the
s- price had f'allen, there was less de
n-mand, and other phrases of the J
he kind. The little maiden's eves C
3e filled with tears, and she hesitated
3d a moment while threading her fin- I
gesthrough her chestnut locks.
She finally threw herself' into a
oh chair. "In God's name," she gasp-I
ofl ed, "take it quickly." The bar- I
3y ber, satisfied with his bargain, was
r- about to clinch it with his shears,
en when a gentleman who sat halfc
all shaved, looking on told him to f
stop. "3My child," he said, "why
so do you want to sell your beautifult
of~ hair!' "3My mother has been near-t
en ly five months ill; 1 can't wor-k
k- enough to support us, everything
has been sold or pawned, and there
ss is not a penny in the house" (und
Sa kan kreut:e;' bn haus.) -'No, no, my
er child," said the stranger-; "if that
in is the case I will buy it.' He gave
ns, the poor girl tne note, the sight of
ge iwhich had dried her tears. and
of took up the barber's shears. Ta
rs. king the locks in his hands, he
ar- took the longest hair, cut it off
ta- alone, and put it carefully in his
ale! pocket-book, thus paying one hun
n dred florins for a single hair. lie
>took the poor girl's address, in
ls case he shouild want to buy anoth
n' er at thesm rate. This charita
ble man is only designated as the
en 'chief of a great inzdustrial enter
seprise within the city.
nd _
GIVE. -rHlE CHILDn A LIG;H.-f a
ht child wants a light to go to sleep
by give it one. The sort of Spar.
etan firmness which walks off and
t. takes away tihe c-andle and shuts
'all the doors between th,e house.
hold cheer and warmth and the
e-pleasant stir of' evening mirth, and
e.leaves a little son or daughter to
hide his head under the bed
clothes and get to sleep as best it
~nt can is not at all admirable. Not
thtte mother mecans to be cruel,;
erwhen she tries this or that harden
-dj
"ing process, and treats human na
*ay- trashifiteeca ob ole
ny into any saeshe may please.-!
nd Very likely she has no idea what
of Iever of the injury and suffering she
~:causes, or perhaps her heart aches ;
r.- but she perseveres, thinking she
CHARGE OF A DETROIT
JUDGE.
A NFW YEAR's CALLER.
John Robinson made New Year's
alls. lI called on a saloon-keep.
r, he caIled for liquor, called t he
quor good, and drank enough
trip him up. Then he called
>r police, and when the police
1me he called them liars and
ch.
"I was having a little fun," he
.plained, winkin(g at his honor.
"John Robinson are vou aware
iat this is a very solemn world,"
Lid the court, "a world which has
n heartaches to one smile? Don't
ou know that the grim shadow
grief rests upon every doorstep,
id that the tombstones in the
,meteries almost outnumber the
,ees in the forest? There's wailing
every household, John Rob
so,n-there's grief in every heart.
nd yet you claim that you were
]1V having a little fun?"
"That's all, your honor-it was
holiday."
"It was sad fun. John Robi.i
in. While all the rest of us were
veariog off and making double
Lek action resolves while you
ere lying at the corner ofan alley
)ad drunk. It is five dollars or
xty days, sir, and if this case was
fore a Chicago police judge he'd
ake it five hundred dollars orI
life sentence."
SOME FIGURING.
"It's the last time!" exclaimed
uthony Hock as he was brought
it.
"You've decided to quit, oh ?"
"Yes your honor-yesterday
as my last drunk. I've been
)unting up the cost, and I've
ade up my mind to live sober
id s:vc monev after this.
"Anthony Iioek, you talk like
man. It does me good to hear
man speak up that way in this
ry and age. It's like finding a
m-dollar bill while.one is pawing
ver the clothes-basket to discover
-here the hired girl flung his Sun
ty boots. Stand right up to
our resolution, sir. Pvc been
guring a little, and I find that
a man will stop drinking liquor,
a and coffee, go barefooted, steal
is wood, get trusted for his pro
isions. cheat the landlord out of
is rent, stand up in church to
ive pew-rentand live economical
r in other respects, he can save
t least $500 per year. Now then,
500 per year for 400 years is $200,
00. Just think of that! With
Ut any effort to sp)eak of you can
Stime be worth $200,000. You
iay go home, sir !"'
FIRST JOKE.
Elizabeth McNamara, a woman
tty years old, go off the first
>kc of the season when she wvalk
d out and announced that it was
er first appearance here. B3ijah
sughed until his spectacles fell off,
he clerk grinned like a copper
iine, and his honor stop)ped
aring his apple, stuck his knife
uto the desk, and replied :
FIRST JOKE.
"Elizabeth McNamara, the sight
f that 'cre front door is not more
amiliar to me than the fact that
~ou have been here somewhere in
be region of forty times. What's
he charge, this time'."
"Taken a drap-a bit of a little
mall drap."
"i've let you off. sent you up),
~xpostulated. plea'ied and threat
mned, and yet you come back here,"
10 said, "I was thinking the other
lay that Wi eve-r peered over t.he
lesk: at your freckled no.se again.
ind the charge was drunkenness.
'd have you sawed in twc with a
-ross cut saw and the pieces split
ip for kindling-wood !
"D)on't dJo it. Sir-sendi me up
Vgain.
"I shi:ml make it three mnont :.
'-I dlon't care-only don't saw
mue in twice !" she gasped.
"W~ell." he said, after pondering
over the ease, "we've been to s810
expense to get the saw, and Bijah
has anticipated great fun, but i'll
see what three months will do.
Go back and sit down on the stove
hearthi until the Bla:ck Maria goes
COULDNt STAND' IT.
"T his islDaniel Casey," said Bijah
as he handed out the last man.
"and 1 can tell you why he was
drunk."
"Well."
"Casey wvasn't sober!" contin
aed the old janitor.
His honor regarded him for a
long time without speaking, but
&nally said :
"The prisoner can go, and Bijah,
if you ever sit down on this court
with another pun like that, and
are accidently shot next day, your
friends mustn't ask me for money
a heln buy a onmml
ADVERTISINC RATES.
Adverz;isements inscrtcd at the rate o'S.I.O
p er square-one inch-forbfrst insertion, andi
S.) tr eab su~sequzent insert,.m .Double
'tllanm a I ertisements ten per cent on aboNe.
No:ie-' o'lmeetm, obitu;u-e- and tril,ule
of respct, samie rates per aquzare ast:dna
advertemnts.
Special noicLs in lo-al columa 20 cents
pe:11"le.
Adv tzisemcnts not marked with Lbe nun
ber o. inzctions will be kejz in till f)rb;d
and charged accordingly.
Spech:l contracts maue with large adver
t w;er 1ithlberal dcductious on above rntes.
P-n1e with Neatness and Dispatcb.
Terms Cash.
EOW DRY IT W.S!
An honeA'st old firmer from th
countrv rave iis recollections of
the late hut .reH as follows:
It was so dry we couldn't spare
water to put. in our whisky.
The ,ass was So dry that every
time the wind blew it flew around
like so much ashes.
There wasn't a tear shed at a
funeral for a month.
The sun dried up all the cattle,
and burnt off the hair till they
looked like ..\Iexiean dogs. aud the
sheep all like poodle puppies,
they shrank up so.
We had to soak all '-r hogs to
make 'em hold swill. and if any
cattle were killed in the norning,
they'd be dried beef at dark.
The woods dried up so that the
farmers chopped seasoned timbers
all through August, and there
ain't ai match through all the coun
try-in fact, no weddiig since the
widow Glenn married oli .1aker,
three months ago.
What few g-rasshopperz are left
are all skin and legs, and I ddn't
bear a tea-kettle sing for0 six
months.
We cat our potatoes baked. they
being all ready. and we couldn't
spare water to boil 'em.
All the red-headed girls were
afraid to stir out of the house in
day-ight, and 1. tell you. I was
afraid the devil had moved out of
his old home and settled down
with us for life.
Why, we had to haul water all
summer to keep the ferry running.
and-say, it's ge-ttin g dry ;let's
take suthin.
A P 1 " iE 0 N's .KNowLEI'GE OiF
TIE.-An observant writer has
started the question whether ani
mais know when Sunday comes.
A friend of mine has a dog that al
ways runs with the wagon. On
week dlays tihe wagon turns to the
right from the gate and goes down
to tile fatctory. On Sunday it turrs
to the left. anrd goes to chureb.
The dog runs ahecad;Ion: Sunday
he turns to tile left. and no inti
mation is given. Six days the
sagacious animal run on in ad
vance to the factory. Even tihe
horse understands the day as well
as the~ way to chturch. No one
that has passed a week-day in
Venice will have failed tol see
the pigeons feed at tile hour of
noon. Far more than 100 of these
little animals have come at noon
for their food. They never mis
take the hour. They niever come
at ten or eleven. Whben the bell
of St. Mark's begins to c!ang out
the hour of noon. not a bird can
be seen :befor-e the bell ceases
the air will be black, and doves by
the hundred fly to the wiodows.
On Sunday no gr-ain is given. The
old bell jars out t welve o'clock,
but no birds appear. They can
count-they know when Sunday
comes.-Bo.u-I' Jrna!.
The celebrated! Dr-. Chalmers. in
one of his sermons, declares that
the practi(-e of courtesy had done
more fort- ihe happiness of mankind
than the ex-.cise of the most uni
bounded charity. You can give
alms to very poor people only;
yucan be. polite to ail. You treat a
person whom you meet in at friend
ly manne:- and he goes away pleas
ed. You are gr-uli toward him,
and his bad feelings are roused, he
isdisconten-ted both with yon and
himself. You say a kin .i word
it costs vou nothing-but ho r of
ten it gladdens the heart~ of ant
otheri.
IThere is one noble means of
avenging our-selves for unijust erit
icism: it i,by do ingr still better-,
and-' -t.LBnig it sel by inc-rea
is' theonly-tire n ny ftiumping;
but.' if i'n-eal of ihis. youi under
take to d)u t-, t.> lefendJ. 0r to)
Crticie by way ofrprisa:l, y-ou in
volve yosue i n endiX-s te->u les
and 'insqu'iee i;trb that tran
quiity wic nh i o nece.s-arv to
the Suc:cesfu exerI vcise O of yur
pursur, a-i twate in hlarassit2-t
conteSts that pr-ec-ious tinme w hi-h
you should concentirate to your
art.--3uorca.
When the Kint of Por-tugal adl
dresse-' his wife publicly he is oh
lied to say "Very high and very.
excelent Przincess D). Maria Pia~ of
'-av oy, Queen (it Portu gu. my
deai, well beloved, andI highly es
tem-ned spoCuse, mayt you hold youdr
Majesty's per-son in His sacred
keeping." But in the seei usion of
their very high and] ver-y -ecllent
private life his Majesty- is yer
at to r-un oin afi.er this style.
"D-n you Maria, where have youa
pt myr uendrs?"9